Welcome Home
by Red Chucks
Summary: Flashbacks, tears and stupidly happy endings seem to be all I can do. So here is my first Nathan Barley story thing. There's a language warning, they swear too much.


**Title: Welcome Home**

**Rating: M for swearing**

**Hello, this is my first Nathan Barley fic and my third fic overall. The idea snuck into my head when I was listening to music and just wouldn't go away so I had to write it down so I could go back to work. Flashbacks, tears and stupidly happy endings seem to be all I can do. So here is my first Nathan Barley story thing.**

...

Dan didn't know why he was at the club. He hadn't set foot in one of these Shoreditch cesspits in six years, hadn't been in Shoreditch for six years if it came to it, and yet, within days of finding himself back in the neighbourhood here he was. But it was a lie to say that he didn't know why he was at the club, he just wished he didn't know.

He was here, enduring the idiot hipsters and dub-step chavs, the nauseating music and the overpriced drinks because the signs around town had advertised that tonight, for one night, The Space 2.0 would have the pleasure of hosting the one and only 'Not-A-DJ' Jones.

He could hear people talking excitedly about Jones' set, which was due to start in only ten minutes, and he made no attempt to pretend he wasn't listening in.

"... I can't believe he agreed to do the gig."

"He'll be getting paid enough for it though, won't he."

"Do you think he'll play his own stuff or just work the decks?"

"Who knows. I'm just excited to get to see him up close."

"Not-A-DJ Jones. What a legend..."

It was all very confusing. He and Jones hadn't parted on the best terms and he hadn't kept up with what the younger man had been doing but when he'd seen those posters he'd felt compelled to go. He grabbed a beer from the bar and found himself an empty booth at the back of the heaving club, his mind wandering, against his will, back to that last day at The House of Jones.

...

_Dan heaved himself up the steps of the maisonette, the pain in his leg fueling his anger. The idiots were winning. No, the idiots had won and he was turning into one. He had to get out. His short stay in the hospital had given him a chance to dry out, to re-evaluate, and decide that the nightmare he was living was just not worth its meagre rewards. It was time to get out. He had very few friends to say goodbye to, very few belongings to gather. There was only one person who was going to make this difficult._

_"Jones!" he yelled over the music as he limped into the front room, discarding his crutches on the couch. _

_"Jones!"_

_He watched as the younger man looked up and jumped when he realised he wasn't alone. _

_"Dan!"_

_The hideous music came to a screeching halt as he shut down the decks and bounced his way over to Dan._

_"Why didn't you tell me you were getting out today? I would've come an' helped you."_

_"I'm fine," Dan said curtly, watching Jones's face crinkle in confusion._

_"Are you alright?"_

_Dan snapped._

_"Are you really that thick? Of course I'm not alright, Jones. I've spent the last three years of my life being Jonathan Yeah?'s bitch, I jumped out a fucking window, I've had to get a lawyer to deal with Nathan-dick-head-Barley and I live in filthy maisonette with a talentless, drugged up DJ. How's that for starters? I got told by some doctor with his head up his own arse that I'll probably walk with a limp for the rest of my life, I have no carrier, and even I think I'm a twat!"_

_Jones simply stood in the centre of the room in shock during the rant. Dan had never seen him standing so still, his arms stretched out in front of him, ready to give Dan a hug. He'd certainly put a stop to that nonsense._

_"I'm leaving, Jones. I'm getting out."_

_"But..." Jones blinked slowly and Dan could see his brain try to process what was happening through the fog of poppers and caffeine. "But what about us?"_

_"There is no 'us', Jones," Dan said bluntly. _

_"But..."_

_"We were occasional fuck buddies, Jones, because I liked to be able tell myself that I could fuck over at least one of the idiots. That's it."_

_He could see the tears filling those stupidly blue eyes and he fought to stay hard and unfeeling. He needed to kill off his old life in order to be free. And there really hadn't been much more than the occasional fuck between them anyway. He couldn't understand why Jones was getting so emotional. _

_"But..."_

_"Is that all you can say? The drugs finally fried your brain?"_

_"Fuck buddies?"_

_"That's what I said."_

_"You think I'm an idiot?"_

_Dan wondered if Jones was being intentionally thick. It certainly made it easy to be angry at him when the boy was acting this stupid._

_"Look at yourself, Jones," he snapped, leaning in close and making Jones flinch. "You're what, twenty-five? And what have you got to show for it? You work as a DJ at a hairdressers, for God's sake. You went to college, I know you did. You're a qualified electrician, you could have a proper job and a proper life but instead you're pissing your life away playing music so awful it curdles beer and taking enough drugs to kill a race horse."_

_"But I like music."_

_"Then try actually playing some. You have a guitar. I've seen it, but I've never seen you play it. If you want to make music start with that instead of destroying your own ears with that noise."_

_He stopped to draw breath but Jones didn't try to reply. He'd stopped looking at Dan and was looking down at his scuffed up trainers instead. Dan knew he really had no right to be tearing the man to shreds, not when his own life was such a mess, but it just felt so good to say it. _

_"I'm leaving, Jones. I need to, to sort myself out." His tone had softened he realised but Jones was still looking resolutely at his feet._

_"Why don't you do us both a favour and do the same. Before you end up like me."_

_He turned away, limped out of the room and quickly filled a rucksack with what belongings he could find. As he passed the kitchen and something caught his eye. The small table in the corner was for once not covered in dirty dishes and circuits but a large sheet of paper and a selection of coloured markers. He walked toward it warily._

_'Welcome Home Dan!'_

_It turned his stomach. He felt like he'd just beaten up a puppy. He couldn't go back now, though. He needed to get out. Ten years ago he'd thought his future as a journalist was assured. He'd thought that by the time he was thirty he'd have a mortgage, a steady partner, a job that made him proud and got him attention and recognition. He'd go back to Leeds and start again. Rebuild himself and be a better person. He just had to destroy Jones to do it._

_He grabbed his toothbrush from the bathroom and limped painfully back into the front room. Jones hadn't moved but as Dan got closer he could see two tear tracks down his cheeks, muddied slightly by his eyeliner. Fuck, he hadn't thought the idiot would actually cry._

_"I'm going now, Jones. Don't call me, ok?"_

_"But..."_

_"That still your only word?"_

_Jones looked up at that and it was Dan's turn to flinch. Jones looked distraught, heartbroken. Dan hadn't counted on this._

_"But I love you, Dan," he whispered._

_The situation was ludicrous. Dan did the only thing that seemed appropriate in response. _

_He laughed._

_And he left._

...

The warm up DJ had finally finished and Dan breathed a sigh of relief at the lull in the noise. He wondered if Jones had changed at all. He was still DJing, so probably not, although people were talking like he'd been out of the Shoreditch loop for a while, like seeing Jones DJ was a rare and privileged experience. Perhaps he'd found something better to do with his life.

Dan had found something better. He'd worked his way up the ladder at a paper in Leeds and last month had taken a position as assistant editor at a paper back in London. He was renting a decent apartment on the edge of Highgate and was looking to buy. He only ever had one drink when he went out and he had been off the cigarettes for over five years. He'd sorted himself out and he actually enjoyed writing again. If he wasn't such a lonely bugger life'd be just about perfect. As it was, every day he had to live with the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, the silence of his flat when he got home. He missed the music, he realised, and more than that, he missed having another person around, a person with boundless energy and enthusiasm, a person with crazy hair, crazy clothes and big blue eyes. A person who could actually love him.

He missed Jones.

Some idiot was on the stage now, revving up the crowd and Dan glared at them.

"... 'E's a local boy, who used to work the decks of Shoreditch back when SugarApe was still cool and people still bought CDs. Now he's an international music legend!"

The crowd roared and Dan rolled his eyes. The idiots still reigned supreme, it seemed.

"Tonight he's here as our special guest, to spin some tunes. He says he's not a DJ no more but he's making an exception for us tonight. Give it up - and I mean really go wild - for Jones!"

The roar of the crowd was so loud Dan didn't think he'd be able hear whatever Jones played, the screaming hipsters had deafened him.

The shouting, squealing, clapping and stomping only got louder when a skinny figure with a mop of purple and black hair sauntered on stage and went to stand behind the decks. It was Jones alright. He looked the same, but that intro, no matter how vapid it had sounded, had made Dan think that the Jones on stage was not the same Jones he had left behind.

"Alright, you lot! How you doin'?"

His answer was another loud cheer and Dan could just make out the cheeky smile, the dimple, the way he cocked his hip and tilted his head. It was adorable, Dan admitted, had always been adorable, and it made his heart race.

"So, I'm Jones."

Another round of screams.

"And I usually play with 'Not-A-DJ', but tonight I'm hear to spin a few of my favourite tunes and get you all dancing, yeah?"

The screams were so loud Dan's pint glass started to rattle it's way across the table but even as his ears were being assaulted a few important facts began to slot into place. Claire, his not-so-baby sister, used to always be on at him to listen to a new band or watch the latest cutting edge documentary but had at some point given up on it. Until two years ago when she'd texted to say that he should check out a great new band. A band called something idiotic, he'd thought. A band called Not-A-DJ. He'd never bothered. Hadn't even bothered to text her back but now he wished he had. Jones was in a band.

The music started up and Dan found it surprisingly bearable. The songs were from bands that he thought he might be able to listen to without grinding his teeth and, even if Jones was dropping some dub-step in and messing around a bit, we wasn't actually ruining the music. He even caught himself smiling when he recognised a song from the radio only for Jones to announce, "And that was one of mine."

The smile slipped when he saw a familiar figure sashaying around the edge of the room, iphone in hand and making a bee line for Jones. Sasha.

He tried to slide down in his seat, hide behind the table but she turned and she saw him, their eyes locking for one long moment before she gave a strange little smile and continued on her way. She climbed the steps at the side of the stage and whispered something in Jones's ear. Dan saw the smile falter, saw Jones look up, search the crowd. Saw his lips move in a word that could have been 'Dan' but could have been anything else. It was too much.

He was glad that the kid had made something of himself, was doing more than making noise at some hair studio. That was good. He didn't like the part he had played in Jones's decision to make something of himself though. He hadn't forgotten the look on his face as he'd laughed, Laughed! at the boy's declaration of love. He couldn't wait around for Jones to confront him. He didn't think he'd be able to stick to his one drink rule if that happened. He'd wanted to see him so badly but he couldn't deal with Jones looking lost and heartbroken again. Or worse, angry and bitter over what Dan had done.

He stood up to go but somehow, even through the mass of dancing bodies between them Jones noticed it and fixed him to the spot with a stare. And then the smile was back. That great, shit-eating grin that made it impossible not grin back. He couldn't move, not even to sit back down, as he watched Jones fiddle with his decks, pick a new track to play and grab the mic to get the crowd's attention as the music lowered.

"This next one's for the grumpy bastard up the back," he said in a cheeky voice and several people turned to stare at him and smirk.

"And mate, if this is on the money, I expect you to waiting here," he pointed to the stairs by the stage where Sasha was standing, "when I finish up, alright?"

Dan could feel his face turning beetroot red and several other people turned to look at him again, as if wondering what he could possibly have that someone like Jones might want.

"This ain't one of mine," Jones went on, and Dan noticed him bouncing on his toes in excitement. "But it's by the blokes who gave me my big break. I think you know who I mean."

Dan felt sure that he was the only person in the building who had no idea who Jones meant but he waited, standing at the back of the room like an idiot as the music started up. He blinked. He knew this song. This was Greenday. Jones knew Greenday?

_'Well I ain't got much time so I'll get to the point_

_Do you wanna share a ride and get the fuck_

_out of this joint?_

_I've got an impulse so repulsive that it burns_

_I wanna break your heart until it makes_

_your stomach turn._

_I've got to know if you're the one that got away_

_Even though it was never meant to be_

_Say you'll stay the night_

_'cause we're running out of time_

_So stay the night_

_I don't wanna say goodbye_

_Say you'll stay the night_

_'cause we're running out of time_

_So stay the night_

_Well I don't wanna say goodbye...'_

The song continued and Dan felt his breath quickening. He knew it wasn't a long song. He had to get down to the stage. Jones would probably be playing for another hour but he had to make the gesture, show the tits in this place that he could do this, show Jones that he had changed too. He began to walk.

Jones was dancing behind the decks but as he moved through the crowd Dan saw dancers stop and stare and nudge their friends. He couldn't hear the music anymore. All he could hear were his own words from all those years ago:

_"There is no 'us', Jones."_

_"But..."_

_"I'm going now, Jones. Don't call me, ok?"_

_"But I love you, Dan."_

When he reached the steps Sasha was there, a restrained little smile on her lips.

"Haven't seen you around for a while, Dan."

"Yeah, I've only just come back to London," he mumbled over the music.

"Oh, I know," she replied enigmatically. "I just hope you've got your life in order and your head in gear now, Dan." The hard look she gave him then made him blanche. "Because if you hurt that boy again, I will rip your fucking throat out."

Dan swallowed hard, glancing up at the stage, where Jones seemed oblivious to his arrival.

"Understood. And you are what? His carer?"

"I'm his PA."

"Good for you." She shrugged.

"When you left SugarApe, SugarApe died. I needed a knew job."

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

They stood against the wall together, Sasha scanning the room and tapping away on her phone, Dan watching Jones as he moved and worked the crowd. He didn't regret leaving Shoreditch. He didn't even regret being harsh with Jones, they'd both been fuck-ups if he was honest.

But he did regret laughing. And right now he very much regretted the fact that he hadn't realised just how important Jones had been. Right now he thought just how easy it would be to love Jones.

Finally Jones began to wind up his set. He thanked the crowd, told them to download his band's album and then turned to Dan while still addressing the crowd through the mic.

"And the grumpy bastard did come up here after all."

There were a few catcalls and cheers and Jones licked the corner of his lower lip in a way that sent Dan blood racing away from his head.

"Welcome home, Dan." On cue the crowd went silent, waiting to see what would happen next.

"You reckon you're ready for that hug now? It's been six years and all."

He all but leapt down the steps and into Dan's open arms and Dan hugged him as tight as he humanly could, feeling the energy and heat that was Jones fill him and start to complete him.

"You're coming back to my house, you are," Jones breathed into his ear before pulling back to look at him.

"But..."

"Don't try that old routine on me, Dan," Jones chuckled. "You ruined my fucking life and forced me to make a better one. And I did."

"You did," Dan nodded simply. "And now you know Greenday?"

"And now I know Greenday," Jones laughed. "Long story that. Got a job as their electrician when they were touring. Think they wrote 'Kill the DJ' about me."

"Wow."

"So back to mine, yeah?"

"But..."

"I still feel the same, Dan. And I don't hate you. We can talk at my place. You can stay the night."

And to Dan the situation still felt ludicrous. Utterly and completely ludicrous. So he did the only thing that seemed appropriate in response.

He kissed Jones as the crowd roared louder than ever.

And he left with Jones by his side.


End file.
